


we look like animals

by staccato_ramble



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BadBoy!Blaine, Falling In Love, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato_ramble/pseuds/staccato_ramble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whiskey kisses, shared cigarettes, blood on the pavement: these are things that add up when two boys fall in love. Inspired by Richard Siken’s <em>Little Beast</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we look like animals

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Richard Siken’s _Little Beast_ , title stolen from there. My spin on badboy!Blaine and skank!Kurt. Beta'd by the ever amazing and patient oneknit_wonder.

**1**.

Blaine hears about the party from Mike Chang, who sits next to him in study hall and seems to a genuinely kind human being. When he shows up, Blaine can spot Mike immediately. He sticks out like a sore, preppy thumb drowning in a sea of McKinley High’s freakiest and geekiest. Nodding in thanks when Mike passes him a cup with questionable contents, Blaine says, “I can see this isn’t your usual crowd.”

Mike tries to shrug it off, but there’s a certain tension that he holds in his shoulders as he glances around the crowded back yard. There’s clusters of people everywhere, talking and swaying to the music that’s piped in from an unseeable source. It takes a while for Blaine to distinguish Tina from the sea of goth kids, but her laugh gives her away. She’s in the far corner, pressed up close to some guy with pink streaks in his hair who dips her low and gets her laughing again.

Blaine glances back to Mike, because he’s only really known the guy for three weeks, but in that time, he’d been able to pick up on the fact that Mike has a jealous streak. Blaine likes to think he’s not one to seek out fights, but there’s this itching in his bones, like it’s been too long since he’s hit anything but a punching bag. Except, Mike just blows Tina a kiss and smiles a little when the other guy intercepts it, slipping the kiss into his pocket.

“What gives?” Blaine asks, taking a careful sip of his drink. It’s shitty beer and mostly flat, but he trusts Mike to have not slipped anything in it, so he takes a long gulp in order to maintain his careful facade of disinterest. “If Tina was my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let that guy steal her away.”

“Kurt is hardly going to steal her away,” Mike says, but still starts moving towards them, “He’s...like you.”

“Fresh out of reform school and dragged to a party by one of his mom’s friend’s kid?”

“Gay.”

And then Mike’s starts to pull Tina into his arms so they can make out as they sway to the music. Never mind the fact that the song is a fast one now and he’s being a total douche by leaving Blaine at a party where he knows all of two people. The guy Tina was dancing with gives him the once over before leaning in, smelling like sickly sweet alcohol and a musky cologne. There’s a diamond stud in his nose that sparkles like a star and his eyes are a devastating shade of blue. He offers his hand out to Blaine, grip strong and voice smooth as he murmurs in Blaine’s ear, “I’ve heard so much about Mike’s criminal friend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

His breath is warm and light on Blaine’s neck, making him shiver in the sweltering August heat. He wants to tear his off his jacket or the guy’s shirt or _something_. Blaine needs to take a deep breath to slow down his racing mind and squeezes the guy’s hand, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking like he’s fourteen.

“Believe me, beautiful, the pleasure is all mine.

 

The next thing he knows, Blaine has been dragged far away from the sea of people and into the front yard, where there’s a porch swing and the other boy’s legs in his lap.

He’s talking in a whiskey sour slowed voice, tracing the seams of Blaine’s jacket and talking about how much he hates living in Lima, Ohio. He goes over things Blaine knows about (a school full of assholes, a dad that doesn’t understand him, a brother who the world revolves around) and things Blaine never thinks about (a mother who’s been dead almost ten years, a voice that makes him sound like a girl, an androgynous body to go with the voice). After a while, Blaine loses track of how much time they’ve spent on the porch, focusing instead on the runs and scoops of the other boy’s voice.

“Shit,” he says, a high breathy note, “I never even told you my name.”

“Mike told me already. You’re Kurt.”

Blaine is proud of himself for remembering. Coming to the party seems like centuries ago and now it’s like the porch swing is a separate part of time and space entirely, save for _Bon Iver_ floating through the night air like the fireflies on the lawn. Kurt squeezes Blaine's bicep experimentally, his smile slow and lazy. “I _am_ Kurt. Who are you?”

There’s an awful moment where he can’t remember his own name and his mouth goes dry, but eventually he manages to spit out, “Blaine. My name is Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine really wishes he had another shitty beer right about now, if only so he could have a reason not to talk anymore. Except, Kurt doesn’t push the conversation further, just traces the seam from the cuff of Blaine’s coat all the way up to the shoulder, humming along with the song. When he reaches the end of the sleeve, Kurt tilts his head and Blaine can see there’s glitter smeared in the corners of his eyes. His breath still smells like booze when he says, “Blaine Anderson?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

Kurt makes good on his word, pulling Blaine in by the collar of his jacket and sliding their mouths together. It’s all teeth clacking painfully and too wet tongues moving over each other. Kurt tastes like cherries with a sharp alcohol burn buried underneath and Blaine doesn’t even want to think of what he tastes like, just grabs the back of Kurt’s neck so he can’t go far.

It’s the best damn kiss of Blaine’s life and was making its way toward being the best make out session ever, but then someone’ is calling their names. Kurt pulls back, cheeks pink like the streaks in his hair and eyes sparkling like starlight. He’s whispering now, voice an octave or two lower, “That’s our cue to go.”

Blaine swallows twice, reminding himself that Mike is his ride and if he’s not at the Chang’s house when his parents call to check in, it’s back to the Dalton Reform Academy. At some point, the hand that wasn’t on the back of Kurt’s neck wandered down to the other boy’s hip, which he gives a quick squeeze to reassure himself that this isn’t some kind of weird blackout dream.

Underneath denim, the other boy is warm and as Kurt pulls himself out of Blaine’s lap, he even lets out a little laugh. In the backyard, Mike starts to sound worried, so Blaine pulls himself up, eying the cigarette Kurt has produced from nowhere enviously.

“Mind if I bum one?” Blaine asks, slipping an arm around Kurt’s shoulders.

It’s a touch casual enough that it shouldn’t draw too much attention as they return to the party, but still allows him to slide his fingers into the back of Kurt’s hair. The other boy leans into the touch ever so slightly, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and holding it out for Blaine to take. He doesn’t light up another one, but just before Tina throws herself at them with a small cheer, Blaine hears Kurt say, “After a kiss like that, you can have the whole fucking pack.”

 

They exchange numbers hastily, switching phones while Tina and Mike kiss goodnight against his car. Blaine wonders if he should kiss Kurt goodnight too, wonders if either one of them is the kind of boy who gives or receives goodnight kisses, but then Kurt passes back his phone. At some, his glitter got smeared and now he’s glowing under the streetlights like something from a movie: a guardian angel in tight jeans and motorcycle boots.

Very firmly, Blaine tells himself that falling in love is dangerous, but that’s a hard thing to remember when Kurt tugs at his belt loops, dragging their hips together with a smile. He’s managed to grab another drink before they left the party and he holds the cup out to Blaine, lids drooping a little. “Pull out the cherry for me? My hands are full.”

He gives Blaine a squeeze on the hip for emphasis. Theoretically, it’s the same motion that Blaine did to him about a half hour ago on the porch swing. Except that had been light and quick, something Kurt wasn’t meant to notice. This squeeze is hard and deliberate and makes Blaine’s hips buck a little, cock hardening as he sinks his hand into the whiskey sour for the damn cherry.

About five feet away, Tina lets out a low moan. When he finally snags the cherry, Blaine brandishes it like a prize, only to have Kurt eat the fruit out of his hand. His mouth is already stained red when he comes back for the stem, working it around for a little while before sticking his tongue out at Blaine, revealing a neat knot before he spits it onto the pavement. Blaine takes the cup from Kurt then, drinking half of it, because the only other option is pinning the other boy against the car and Mike’s phone timer has started to go off.

“Call me sometime,” Kurt says lightly, releasing his hold on Blaine’s hip as their friends straighten their clothing. “We should hang out when I’m not plastered.”

Blaine watches Kurt walk off, wrapping an arm around Tina’s waist as they slip back into the party. Then, Mike is pulling him into the car and freaking out about the fact that they’re not going to make it home before curfew or his parents will figure out that they’ve been drinking, but all Blaine can think about is that a sober Kurt might kill him and he’d be smiling the whole time.

 

 **2**.

“Kurt Hummel’s phone, Tina Cohen-Chang presently speaking.”

Blaine’s head aches at the cheery tone of her voice, thinking that there should be a special place in hell for people who can drink without having a hangover the next day. Curling into himself on Mike’s shitty futon, it would be all too easy to give up on this phone call until he felt less like dying. He’s only got an hour before his parents pick him up though and they monitor all his calls like he’s a prisoner in his own home.

“Can I talk to Kurt himself?” Blaine croaked, mouth dry like a desert.

There’s a long pause over the line where he can hear Tina talking to someone else and Blaine savors the near silence as an opportunity to pull the blankets over his head. Sunlight is so not his friend right now and Mike is seeming like less of a nice guy for pulling the blinds open. Tina laughs close enough to the phone that it makes his ears ring, then says, “Give him a minute to finish puking.”

Blaine isn’t sure what happens in the next few seconds, but it’s enough to make him hate his life. Tina lets out a high pitched scream and there’s the truly horrendous sound of the phone clattering against something hard. There’s more screaming and laughing and Blaine is ready to throw his phone at the wall when Kurt finally picks up, all heavy breath and rough voice. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Finn? I swear to God, I wasn’t throwing up. Don’t tell Dad or Carole.”

Blaine searches his memory for anyone he knows named Finn, but draws a complete blank. His blanket is ripped away and Mike is gesturing to his clock, so Blaine flips him off good-naturedly and points to his phone. Clearing his throat, he attempts to not sound like he’s near death.

“This is Blaine Anderson. From last night.”

There’s another pause in which he can hear Kurt asking Tina something and Mike flops dramatically onto the futon, nearly crushing Blaine’s feet. He looks as awful as Blaine feels right now: bloodshot eyes, stubbled face, and a hickey looking red and angry on his neck. There’s probably ten minutes before the Changs will expect the two of them downstairs looking pristine and ready to face the day ahead of them.

“I’m back,” Kurt announces, voice wonderfully soft, “And I may not remember you, Blaine Anderson, but Tina assures me we had a fun time.”

“We-”

“Don’t,” Kurt interrupts, voice going high and making Blaine wince, “Telling me about it will only ruin the fun later.”

There’s a knock at the door and Mike’s mom asks if they’re up, but with his heartbeat speeding up, the pounding in Blaine’s head is only getting worse. He pinches the bridge of his nose before catching the tee shirt that Mike tosses to him. As he attempts to pull it on one handed, Blaine struggles to keep his voice level when he asks, “What do you mean by later?”

“ _That_ would also ruin the fun, but I’ll be seeing you, Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt hangs up on him then and, as he stares down at his phone in disbelief, Blaine really needs a smoke.

 

 **3**.

For the next week, Blaine keeps his eyes out for Kurt at school. The boy doesn’t seem to be in any of his classes or at any of the places that smokers hang out or at glee club, which Blaine is required to go to in order for his parents to keep paying for his cell phone. He’s also not at Tina’s house when Blaine tags along with Mike or at the only coffee shop in town. The next week, needless to say, Blaine spends a lot of his time at home listening to music and beating his punching bag.

On Friday, Mike leans over to him during study hall and says, “I know it’s last minute and you don’t like most of them, but there’s a New Directions party tomorrow night and-”

“Will Kurt be there?” Blaine asks, well aware that he sounds more than a little hysterical.

Mike bites his lip and Blaine can just tell that he’s keeping a secret. When he shrugs off the question, it’s obviously a yes and Blaine suddenly feels smug. If Kurt wants to play games, that’s fine, but Blaine Anderson always plays to win. Leaning back in his chair, it’s like he can relax for the first time in weeks without cigarettes or boxing or both. “Can I crash at your place again?”

Mike offers up his fist for bumping, the _I’m the nicest human being ever_ smile back to it’s usual spot on his face. And Blaine may not usually be up for the standard bro gestures, but he’s in a good move and if anyone deserves it, Mike Chang does. So, Blaine bumps their fists together before popping his headphones back in, listening to songs about sex on a loop until the bell rings.

 

It’s only eight o’clock on Saturday, but the party is mostly dead. There’s apparently no booze at New Directions parties since some disaster last year, so Blaine has spent two hours sitting in the corner of the room. Mostly, he’s glaring down at his cup of Sprite and ignoring everyone else’s attempts at talking to him. By the third time that one of the glee club kids ask if his eyebrow ring is real, Blaine is ready to bail completely when the door is slammed open and the room cheers.

Blaine looks up, excited, but it’s only Rachel Berry, brandishing a fresh plate of cookies. It’s the last straw, because he totally didn’t spend twenty minutes getting his hair to sit right only to be stood up at some lame ass party. He slips out the sliding door and into whoever’s backyard, pulling a pack of cigarettes he lifted from Puckerman out of his pocket. Just as he’s about to light up the first one, there’s a voice low and sweet in his ear, asking, “Mind if I bum one?”

Turning around sharply, Blaine finds himself nose to nose with Kurt Hummel, whose smile is all teeth. Stepping so they’re far from the glass door, he passes Kurt the cigarette in his hand and shakes another one out of the pack. The other boy pulls a lighter out of his pocket, silver so polished that Blaine can see their blurry reflections in it.

As they smoke, déjà vu washes over Blaine, because suddenly it’s just the two of them in their own private world, the only thing anchoring them to the rest of the party is the strained sounds of _another_ karaoke session starting up inside. Blaine enjoys the burn of nicotine at the back of his throat and the way tendrils of smoke curl around Kurt’s face, making his features soften at the edges. When they’re both down to nothing but filters, Kurt turns to him, all eyeliner smudged eyes and a singularly raised brow.

“Blaine Anderson?”

“Hmm?” he asks, the feeling of déjà vu becoming so strong his mouth waters at the memory of kissing Kurt, who takes a step closer so there’s maybe a foot between them now.

Blaine stubs his cigarette out on the side of the building in preparation, because he knows all too well how much burns can kill a mood. Angling his body so there’s only a few inches between himself and Kurt now, he leans in so their foreheads touch, smirking because he’s _so_ won this round.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Blaine says, shutting his eyes and leaning in even further and-

And suddenly Kurt is laughing in his face as he slips out from under Blaine. It’s totally unfair that he can look so good while being so evil, but Kurt certainly manages it, adjusting the collar of his flannel so it lies flat. When he’s finished, Kurt points out, “That was my line.”

“You lied about not remembering me,” Blaine says, immediately realizing how stupid he sounds.

Kurt laughs again, tossing his head back to reveal a pale neck that just begs to be covered in bite marks. “Sweetheart, I lie about a lot of things.”

The way his voice goes low and sultry should be illegal, Blaine thinks, and not just because he has a fondness for things that involve breaking rules. Before either one of them can say anything else, Finn and Rachel are stumbling out of the door mid-make out session. Kurt’s face twists up in disgust and he crosses his arms before coughing pointedly. The couple pulls apart and, suddenly, Finn is all smiles for the first time ever in Blaine’s presence.

“Bro! I didn’t know you were dropping by,” he says, trying to pull Kurt into a hug as Rachel bounces in place. “Does this mean you’re re-joining the glee club?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

That’s all Kurt says as he scowls and grabs hold of Blaine’s wrist, pulling him out of the backyard and to the driveway, leaving Finn and Rachel to call after them. Once they’re out of sight, Blaine slips his hand into Kurt’s, lacing their fingers together and liking the way the other boy’s rawhide bracelets rubbed against his skin. It can’t be much past eight thirty and, once again, Blaine has found himself alone with a beautiful boy in the moonlight. The world, for once, seems to be on his side and he can’t wait to take advantage of it.

So, Blaine tightens the his grip on Kurt’s hand and flashes his best leer, asking, “Now what?”

 

When he first sees the park, something dark and ugly takes hold of Blaine’s heart, talons digging in deep as he remembers the feeling of a boot crushing the bones in his hand and the sight of his own blood spilling out onto the blacktop. Never mind the fact that it’s been two years or that he beat the shit out of those guys once the cast was gone. Fear is a hard thing to shake and Blaine has to drop Kurt’s hand because his hands are suddenly sweating.

Kurt only gives him the briefest of glances before launching himself at the monkey bars, grabbing hold, and pulling himself up in one fluid motion. Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, Blaine is more than happy to stay on the ground and watch as Kurt twists himself around the monkey bars, all lean muscle flexing from his efforts.

“Aren’t you a little old to play at the park?” Blaine asks as Kurt shimmies _up_ a pole that serves as the frame for the jungle gym.

Kurt flips so he can face Blaine, long legs hooked at the knee to the bars and hanging upside down with an amused look on his face. His shirt is falling down, showing off his hips and stomach, skin pale and smooth looking in the moonlight. “I basically told you my life story at that party. Now it’s your turn.”

It shouldn’t be possible for someone to look so fucking smug when they’re upside down, but Kurt Hummel manages it and Blaine isn’t sure if he wants to kiss or hit the other boy for that fact. This is clearly a trap, because Blaine has no clue what Kurt has already found out about him, so he can’t lie without setting himself up to be caught. And running away hasn’t been an option since he learned how to fight, so Blaine crosses the playground in a few quick strides to sit on the swings.

Doing some kind of weird flip, Kurt jumps down and joins him, not saying a word but looking at him with wide, curious eyes. Blaine takes hold of his own wrist, tracing the scar that hurts when it rains, then launches into the story of how it got there.

 

 **4**.

Kurt starts appearing around the school like a ghost: Blaine will spot a flash of pink hair or a short burst of laughter, spin around only to catch a glimpse, but before he can be sure of it, the other boy is gone. Blaine doesn't let it get to him, just continues on with whatever he's doing.

Gradually, the glimpses grow longer and longer until Kurt seems to be following Blaine around the school despite them still not having a single class in common. They don't talk, just share razor sharp smiles and, occasionally, Blaine will offer up a wink.

One day after glee club, Kurt is waiting for Blaine outside the choir room. He's clearly irritated, all narrowed eyes and vicious sneer for anyone who tries to talk to him. School is done for the day and Blaine is under strict orders to walk straight home, so he heads to his locker and starts to gather his things. Kurt follows, posture stiff and arms crossed as he leans against the row of lockers. It's kind of hot to see him angry like this for two reasons: one, Blaine had kind of been going on the theory that Kurt Hummel didn't get truly upset so much as he got pissy when drunk and two, it makes his eyes harden like the sky before a storm.

"Why haven't you tried talking to me at all this week?" Kurt demands, jaw tight and _oh_ so sexy, "A game of cat and mouse kind of requires a chase, you know."

"Here's the thing about playing games like that, you should always clarify who's playing which part."

Blaine shoulders his bag and shuts his locker slowly, turning to offer Kurt a grin that aims for innocent but doesn't quite cut it. The irritation doesn't ebb completely from Kurt's body, but when he falls into step with Blaine, there's a relaxed looseness in him that was missing earlier. Once they get outside, Kurt's brother already parked in front of the school, watching them nervously from the front seat of his car. He even honks, like they couldn't already see him from ten feet away.

"Does this mean the game is over?" Kurt asks, taking hold of Blaine's elbow, a gesture that might of been platonic if he wasn't pointedly staring down at Blaine's crotch.

They're standing close now, Kurt's hips only a few, measly inches away from his own and, out of the corner of his eye, Blaine can see Finn squirming uncomfortably. And, well, a small part of Blaine will always love to put on a good show, so he steps forward and plants one of his legs firmly between both of Kurt's. Blaine drops his voice, all rasp and danger. "If it means anything, you made one hell of a cat."

Kurt leans in like he wants to be kissed, but life is a game where you have to make up the rules as you go along, so Blaine ducks around. He turns in time to see Kurt reeling back and flipping him off, which is when Blaine notices that his nails are painted black. Finn blares down on the horn again and, figuring that Kurt is in for a car ride from hell anyway, Blaine blows him a kiss before crossing the street.

He likes to think that he heard Kurt laughing, but it's another ghost sighting, fleeting and quick even in the early autumn sun.

 

September turns into October. Leaves change colors and fall to the ground, crunching under Blaine's boots when he walks to school. He and Kurt aren't quite dating, but take turns sitting at each other's lunch tables and spend as much time together as possible on the weekends, talking at the park or seeing who's the best at sneaking into the other's room. They do not hold hands in the hallway and, much to the club's disappointment, Blaine has not asked Kurt to come back to the New Directions.

And, speaking of glee club, he sings his first solo in October. Everyone seems shocked when he stands up when Schuester asks for volunteers and the piano guy doesn't even ask for sheet music when Blaine announces he's singing _Trust_. It's weird to have everyone staring at him, mouths and eyes wide open as he totally kills, because this is the song Blaine has been humming under his breath for months. There's a scattering of polite applause once he's done, but mostly everyone asks if this song is about him or Kurt or both of them together.

By the time that Shuester remembers that he's supposed to be a teacher and steps up to put an end to the unwanted q&a session, Blaine is already out the door. He feels stupid at himself for singing in front of the others and angry at the club for seeing it as a gossip opportunity. It's just the start of the final period, so grabs his coat and heads outside, hopping that the sudden drop in temperature will keep anyone from bothering him.

The sky is overcast and dark, reflecting his mood nicely even if it will suck to walk home if it starts to rain. Blaine heads out to the bleachers, where there's a sofa for no good reason other than to give kids a place to cut class. There's already a crowd of kids there, but if it's just a bunch of freshmen like last time, Blaine is confident he can scare them off with by baring his teeth and making like he's going to pull something dangerous out of his pocket.

Except, when Blaine is maybe ten feet away, a girl calls out, "Hey, it's Anderson! Someone wake up Hummel."

Getting closer, he can tell the girl is Quinn Fabray. She's another glee club drop out, going from head cheerleader to a self labeled skank. The glee club seems to have differing opinions on why two of their former squeaky clean members have fallen so far, but Blaine ignores those theories for several reasons: the glee club is full of morons, Quinn has never treated him poorly, and Kurt looks so good when he's laying in Blaine's bed that he could've killed a man and it wouldn't matter.

"Anyone have a smoke?" Blaine asks, shoving his hands into his pockets as the various skanks grin at him.

These girls are some of his favorite people because they honestly don't give a fuck about who you are as long as you exude a general apathy about the rest of the world. Someone asks what exactly he wants to smoke and everyone starts laughing, but it's not quite at Blaine's expense, which is always nice. He doesn't get to take up the offer of anything to smoke, because Kurt pulls himself out of the dog pile on the sofa, still looking half asleep as he grabs Blaine by the arm and starts to drag him away.

"You two play safe," Quinn says, waving them away, "Don't want anyone to get knocked up."

 

Blaine doesn't ask where they're going, just wraps an arm around Kurt's shoulders and allows himself to be lead off campus. They stop briefly at the Lima Bean for coffee before continuing on to the now familiar path to Kurt's house, which should be blissfully empty right now. The starts to wind pick up and even as he's downing his mocha, Kurt shivers ever so slightly at the chill.

Stopping in his tracks, Blaine pulls off his coat and shoves it at Kurt, who looks down at it, bewildered. A group of parents start to gather a little ways down, clearly waiting to pick up their kids from the bus stop and sending weary looks in their direction. Blaine shifts his weight from foot to foot, the too familiar feeling of unease becoming a heavy weight in his stomach. The irritation from earlier comes back. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, but it would suck if you died from hypothermia."

"No one dies from hypothermia from a twenty minute walk," Kurt snaps, but his instinctive sneer turning into something softer, "I just never had a guy give me their coat before. Happy now?"

Blaine shrugs but smiles back, taking Kurt's coffee so he can put the jacket on. It doesn't look quite right on him, stretching tight in the shoulders and the leather clashing with the gold lame pants he's wearing, but the sight of Kurt in his clothes sends a rush of heat directly to Blaine's cock. He really can't wait until the day that they lift the unspoken ban about going past each other's zippers, because he'd bet money that Kurt looks as good out of clothes as he does in them.

"Thinking dirty thoughts?" Kurt asks, letting out a filthy groan when he reclaims his coffee and takes a sip.

"Only about you."

It comes off more sappy than Blaine intended and the sincerity in his own voice seems to surprise them both. Kurt looks startled for a moment, then places his free hand on the nape of Blaine's neck, fingers chilly and voice soft when he sighs, "My romantic."

The kiss that follows is enough to outrage the moms at the corner, but Blaine is too busy focusing on the taste of chocolate as Kurt's tongue slides into his mouth. It's over before they can get to anywhere fun, but it's enough to make Blaine forget that Kurt had said ' _my_ romantic'. Instead, he shoots a glare back to the gathering of moms and completely forgoes the act of putting a friendly arm around Kurt's shoulders and slips it into the other boy's back pocket.

 

 **5**.

Blaine was totally right about Kurt looking amazing when he's wearing absolutely nothing. It's been a month since they had sex for the first time, all fumbling hands and trailing mouths in Blaine's bedroom one night when his parents were out of town. Since then, they've been tearing each other’s clothes off with increasing frequency whenever they’re alone, which means they've also been finding more reasons to be alone with each other.

For example, in order to use the car tonight, Kurt had told his dad that he and Blaine were going to the re-release of _Titanic_. Instead, they're in the parking lot of the movie theater with the driver's seat pushed as far back as it can go and Blaine nestled between Kurt's spread legs. Even with one of Kurt's hands buried in his hair, Blaine keeps pulling back, offering only teasing licks and puffs of warm air before taking as much of Kurt's cock back into his mouth as possible.

They've only been giving each other head for two weeks, but they've already got a careful system in which the receiver gives a warning so the giver can pull off and finish up using his hand. Kurt drops his head back into the seat, panting hard. Blaine pulls off for a second, watching a bead of sweat trail down Kurt's forehead and get caught in his eyelashes. It should be gross. The way the car reeks of sweat and the bitter taste in Blaine's mouth should make his stomach turn, but it doesn't.

"Fuck," Kurt hisses, loosening his grip on Blaine’s hair, "I'm close."

Something in Blaine’s belly twists hot and sharp, then floods down directly to his groin as he realizes there's nothing he wants more in the world than to suck Kurt off, have the sensation of someone coming in his mouth. And though he only pulls off for a second, it's enough time for Blaine to decided, for what seems like the millionth time in his life, that rules are meant for breaking.

He licks a long strip down the shaft of Kurt's cock, which makes the other boy moan deliciously, head snapping forward. As Blaine starts to bob his head up and down on Kurt's cock, they manage to make eye contact and it's the single hottest thing that's ever happened in Blaine's short life. Kurt must like it too, because he says something unintelligible that sounds a little like Blaine’s name, then he's coming. Blaine does his best to swallow it all and it's just as he's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand that rock comes sailing through the windshield.

Any post orgasmic bliss is gone, because Kurt lets out a strangled scream and Blaine scrambles to climb up, trying his best to look out the window and provide cover at the same time. Three guys are in front of the car, two of them tossing more rocks in their hand while the remaining one cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Come on out, you little faggots. We want to play.”

The other two guys laugh at that, then another rock is thrown. It misses the windshield, denting the hood of the car instead and Kurt makes a pained sound high in the back of his throat. This car is his fucking baby and he only just won usage rights back after his dad caught him with a pack of smokes. There’s nothing he can do with his pants around his ankles and come drying on his skin, so Blaine takes it upon himself to take action.

Another rock dings a side view mirror as Blaine brushes his lips against Kurt’s, a dry kiss as he mutters, “Wish me luck.”

Before Kurt can protest, Blaine is out of the car and throwing himself at the nearest guy, who totally deserves the fist he got to the ribs. He grabs Blaine around the middle and shoves him into the side of the car, earning himself an elbow to the throat.

When the guy sinks to his knees, wheezing and cursing, a final rock is thrown and strikes Blaine in the head before the other guys run off. The hit is hard enough that Blaine has to grip the car for support, glass slicing his hands open before he goes around the car, dropping into the passenger seat.

“Drive,” he says, pressing his hand into his armpit so he won’t bleed all over the seats, “That piece of shit won’t be down for long.”

Kurt doesn’t have to be told twice, peeling out of the parking spot so fast that the tires squeal and the smell of burnt rubber fills the night air.

 

While they usually tried to avoid going to each other's houses when parents were home, Blaine can't help but feel grateful when Kurt speeds the whole way back to his house, explaining, "Carole is a nurse. She can help, but you can't pass out."

So, Blaine gets to know Kurt's parents like this: Kurt's step mom picks the shards of broken glass from his hand as Kurt's dad paces around the kitchen, yelling. At first, it was about the sight of blood and then it was about the fact that his son had been attacked, but now he and Kurt are in a fight about who Blaine is exactly.

He's too busy wincing and yelping as tweezers dig around in his wounds to defend himself, but Blaine still listens to the argument intently. If Kurt needs a place to stay after tonight, he'll need to find a way to spin the fight into something that makes Kurt's dad seem like a total monster before his parents agree to take Kurt in and not ship him back off to Dalton.

"He's the only fucking reason I'm alive right now!" Kurt shouts, stalking around the kitchen like a cat on the prowl.

His dad's posture stiffens. "Kurt, I won't have you using foul language in this house."

"Yeah, well I won't have you treat the person I love like shit."

The argument seems to end there, because Kurt claps a hand over his mouth and his dad is staring, absolutely dumbfounded. Blaine feels like he's going to throw up and, maybe it could be the blood loss, but he's pretty sure that it's because Kurt just said that he loved Blaine and, holy shit, they never even talked about dating, let alone if they loved each other.

"The glass is out, but this needs stitches," Kurt's step mom says, wrapping a dish towel around Blaine's hand and rising cautiously, "I'll take him, because neither one of you are in a condition to drive. Follow me, Blaine."

They leave Kurt and his dad back at the house, still having a silent staring match in the kitchen. As she's buckling him into the front seat of her minivan, Kurt's step mom says that Blaine can call her Carole. The first half of the car ride is in silent, until Blaine finally works up the courage to turn to her and ask, "Did he really say he loved me?"

Carole doesn't look away from the road, but gives a long enough pause that he can tell she's considering the question carefully. Now that the adrenaline is wearing down, Blaine's hand and head are really starting to hurt, but he wants an answer before he shuts his eyes or gets pumped full of painkillers or whatever. In a voice that sounds that sounds small and childlike to his own ears, Blaine asks, "Did you hear him?"

It's a red light, so Carole turns to him, not quite smiling but not quite frowning either. It's the same expression his mom had on his first day home from Dalton, just another thing Blaine Anderson will never understand about women. Feeling angrier than he did when the guy had grabbed him, Blaine turns to face the window, trying to focus on the cars in the hospital parking lot. It's not until Carole is helping him out of the car and into the emergency room that she finally says, "I heard it too."

 

On Monday, Blaine comes to school with one bandage on his hand to protect his stitches, another on his head to cover up his split eyebrow, and a hero's welcome waiting for him the last period of the day. Everyone applauds when he enters the room and Finn dedicates a song to him for "saving my bro this weekend". When Shuester says that the week's theme is going to be 'courage' in his honor, Blaine sees no choice but to leave the room.

Kurt is already at his locker, sitting on the floor and turning something over in his hands nervously. When he spots Blaine, he stands and hides whatever it is behind his back, one free hand coming up to hover above Blaine's split eyebrow and settle on his cheek instead. His voice is softer than Blaine's ever heard it, barely a sigh when he asks, "How do you feel?"

"Like I did the last time someone beat the shit out of me," Blaine replies, nodding towards the outside doors. "How are you?"

Kurt shrugs and Blaine drops it, because he's not that eager to rehash the details of the other night either. They keep walking, out of the school and through town, not talking or touching or stopping until they're back at the park. The fear in Blaine is nowhere to be found, because he's seen his blood staining a parking lot now and it made him realize that everywhere can be dangerous. They settle into the swing sets and once the quiet goes from awkward to suffocating, Blaine asks again, "How are you?"

Kurt isn't facing him, has his head tilted toward the sky instead and eyes closed. There's the smallest of smiles on his face and he keeps his voice light when he says, "Didn't you hear? I'm in love."

The world, disappointingly, does not stop suddenly on its axis, jolting them out of the swings and away from the conversation. It keeps on spinning and Kurt still isn't looking at him and when Blaine takes a deep breath, the air around them has a cold bite that he didn't notice before. In a physical sense, nothing has really changed and whatever they are used to be all about the physical.

Like, there's the physical way Blaine's legs carry him the few feet between the swings or the physical pain in his hand when he grabs hold of Kurt's face in order to kiss him or the very physical way Kurt wraps himself around Blaine, like he wants to tangle their bodies together so they can't ever be sorted out. But words have power, so it's not just physical anymore and that may scare the shit out of Blaine, but he took on three guys for Kurt, so he isn't about to let _feelings_ scare him off.

They kiss for what seems like an eternity and when they pull apart, Kurt's cheeks are pink and warm underneath Blaine's hands. It could just be from the cold, but some instinct is telling Blaine that it's not, so he keeps his voice light, too, when he says, "Congratulations, beautiful. Who's the lucky guy?"

 

 **6**.

They're more careful when they park now and sometimes Kurt drops in on glee practices, but they still don't hold hands when they walk through the halls together. Someone spray paints the word _queer_ on Kurt's locker, so Blaine buys him a rainbow sticker to cover it up. The favor is repaid whenever someone slushies Blaine in the halls, because Kurt arrives within five minutes of every incident, shoving away whoever is helping Blaine clean up in the girls' bathroom, carrying pore cleanser and promising how he'll make it up to Blaine later.

After one such slushie attack, Kurt walks Blaine to glee club, but immediately declines Shuester's invitation to stay. They kiss goodbye, because somewhere along the lines they decided that's something they want to do whether they're supposed to or not, and then Kurt is gone, leaving all eyes on Blaine as he walks to his usual seat in the farthest corner of the room.

When the group, inevitably, descends into chaos over whatever competition is coming up next, Finn shuffles over. He towers over Blaine no matter what, so the confused look on his face makes Finn seem like an overgrown child. He even rubs the back of his neck sheepishly before asking, "Dude, are you Kurt's boyfriend now?"

This is not a conversation that Blaine wants to be having. Ever since the fight, he and Kurt have had a few talks about how they're a little bit in over their heads with all of this and the conversation had involved the decision that they wouldn't fuck around with each other because of that. And even though Kurt gives him this weird feeling in his chest where it hurts and feels good all at once, Blaine isn't sure about what he thinks of the word 'boyfriend'.

He shrugs and doesn't meet Finn's eyes, hands going to his pockets in order to trace the outline of the lighter there. It had been a gift from Kurt; a small, silver thing, because he was apparently sick of the way Blaine's cheap Bics always crap out. The cool metal comforts him as Finn screws up his face in irritation.

"Listen, I know you don't care about stuff. Whatever. But Kurt is my brother and I don't want anything to hurt him."

The blood in his veins boils a little, because where the fuck was Finn all the times someone has posed an actual threat? Because Blaine has still pink scars to prove that he won't anyone lay a hand on Kurt if he can help it and there's a big difference between talking about something and acting on it. Before Blaine can storm out of the room or sock Finn in the jaw or do _something_ , Shuester is calling for him to lead the group in a song to bring them together.

Blaine does not sing back up like he's supposed to, just clenches and unclenches his fist around the lighter, ignoring the concerned glance that Mike sends his way.

 

It's nine o'clock and there's a tapping at Blaine's window. Abandoning his homework and locking his door, he pulls back the curtains and opens the window. Kurt grins from his perch on the tree branch that's a few feet away and motions for Blaine to move. Doing as he's told, Blaine shuts his eyes as Kurt makes the jump, not opening them until there's the solid thump of someone landing on the little section of roof that juts out below his window.

As Kurt picks dirt and leaves off himself, Blaine turns on his stereo so his parents can't try and snoop. His CD collection was put under lock and key as soon as his parents picked him up from the ER, so the top 40s will have to do for now. Blaine wrinkles his nose when he recognizes one of the songs as something from a glee performance ( _the way you turn me on, I can't sleep_ ), but Kurt doesn't seem to mind, dragging Blaine towards the bed.

They hold on tight like they're both men drowning at sea and the other is the line that will pull them to safety. Kurt buries his face in Blaine's neck and takes careful, even breaths as the other boy marvels of the texture of Kurt's hair without any product in it. Once they manage to fit together like this, it's far too easy for Blaine to just shut his eyes and let the world go on without him.

There's no reason to worry about his parole agreements or the stupid history assignment he has or how twitchy he's been lately because he hasn't been able to smoke in a week. And, if the way his body goes all lazy and lax is any indication, Kurt feels the same way.

It's all ruined when Blaine's mother knocks on his door, reminding him that it's a school night and he needs to go to bed. Kurt huffs out a laugh against his throat and Blaine is torn between loving the feeling against his skin and embarrassment over the fact that he still has a bed time. They lie together for a few more minutes, but then Kurt's phone alarm goes off to alert him that he has ten minutes to leave before he'll run the risk of breaking curfew.

He rolls so he's on top, holding Blaine's wrists above his head and languidly kissing his way up Blaine's neck, around his face. Between kisses, he complains about how he hasn't slept well since the day they met and how he can't listen to certain songs at night anymore, because then he's either too horny or too lonely to fall asleep.

"Come to Chicago with me," Blaine says suddenly, not pulling out from under Kurt but moving so he won't be kissed, "You just have to pretend to be in the glee club for the next few weeks. They're making me room with Tina right now, but she won't say anything if we let Mike sneak in too."

Kurt leans back so he's resting on his knees, straddling Blaine's hips as he considers it. Blaine's not even sure what made him say it now, but the idea has been lingering in the back of his head for since Shuester handed out room assignments a week ago. Reaching out to grip Kurt's hip, he offers up his best smile, waggling his eyebrows. "I'll sing you to sleep every night."

Kurt slides a hand over the one Blaine has on his hip, giving it a little squeeze. The smile he gives in return is all teasing, his eyes shining when he says, "Well, I'd have to be an idiot to turn down an offer like that."

Blaine wants to whoop with delight, but that would only bring his parents back. He settles on sitting up so Kurt slides into lap with a burst of laughter, their hips and chests lining up as Blaine kisses him all over his face, feather light and quick. The second alarm goes off, signaling that if Kurt doesn't head out now, there will be hell to pay when he gets home. He pulls himself off the bed, but not before Blaine manages to squeeze his ass.

Before he jumps back to the tree, Kurt stops to say, conversationally, "I'm keeping a pocket knife under my pillow in case you try anything funny."

Blaine laughs at that, low and dark as he leans on the window sill to kiss Kurt one more time. "Won't matter. Dangerous boys turn me on."

 

Kurt doesn't actually bring a knife on the glee trip. It's a damn shame too, because on the day before the performance, Blaine and Sam had gotten into an argument that was quickly turning physical. When Kurt had stepped in to break it apart, his reward was fist to the face. The entire room went dead silent as Kurt touched his nose, only to have his hand come back bloody. Before he storms off, Kurt snarls at Sam. "This was a new nose ring, you asshole."

As much as Blaine loves the fact that he's got the perfect opportunity to punch Sam in his stupid over-sized mouth, Finn and Shuester are already descending, so he races out of the room. Kurt is nowhere in sight, but there's a trail of blood drops that Blaine follows all the way to the nearest women's restroom. When the door doesn't immediately swing open when he shoves it, Blaine beats on it with his hand. "Open up, it's me."

There's the click of the lock and Blaine slips in. One of the sinks are running, but Kurt hasn't made a move to clean himself up yet, too busy staring at himself in the mirror. The bloody nose isn't as bad as it could be, a slow and steady stream out of the nostril that he has pierced, the silver hoop he has in temporarily stained red. There's splashes of blood on his shirt and his hands seem to be a brighter shade of pink.

Once he notices Blaine staring, Kurt wets a paper towel to wipe his face off. It's no good, because his nose is still bleeding, so he pinches it and, nasally, tells Blaine to get a tampon. This is when Blaine decides that there's some major blood loss going on and he almost starts to panic, until Kurt rolls his eyes and gestures to the machine in the corner of the bathroom.

"Why do you think we're in the fucking ladies room, Blaine? Get me a tampon so I can stop the bleeding long enough to clean up."

He feels like a complete idiot but does as he's told, marveling a little at how Kurt knows how to dissects the thing until it's nothing but cotton on string and shoves it up his nose. Kurt gives him a quick look, tilted chin and narrowed eyes as if he's _daring_ Blaine to laugh, then starts to scrub the drying blood off of his face.

It takes about five minutes, but once he's done, Kurt's skin is freshly scrubbed pink and he's able to take the tampon out of his nose.

"So, does the danger still turn you on?" he asks, catching Blaine's eye in the mirror.

Kurt's smiling, but it's strained. Despite the fact that they roomed together last night, there's bags under his eyes and his hair is a mess. As he presses a hand into the small of Kurt's back, Blaine decides that the glee club has a toxic effect on Kurt and he's quitting as soon as they're back in Ohio.

He doesn't say that though, just whispers into Kurt's ear, "You better believe it, beautiful."

 

 **7**.

"Now what?"

From where he's perched on the window sill, Kurt half turns his body to face Blaine, early dawn light splashing on his skin and making his freckles stand out. There's an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth and his hair is a tousled mess, but he's still the most beautiful creature in the world. He lights the smoke and takes a long drag before answering. "I'm going to finish this, then you're going to help dye my hair."

His roots are starting to peek through the pink and Kurt only has so many hats. So, he made a deal with his dad: Kurt would dye his roots back to brown for graduation in exchange for the chance to spend the night at Blaine's house. His parents are gone for the weekend, under the impression that Mike is staying over to keep Blaine out of trouble. It's a good thing too, because Blaine's room now reeks of sex and cigarettes. And, if she was home, Marie Anderson would be pounding on the door as soon as she heard the way Kurt was coughing now.

"In the future," he vows, "We're going to smoke less."

That throws Blaine a little, because the future isn't something that gets brought up. As a concept, it's both abstract and all too real. Graduation looms over them now and Blaine has no clue what Kurt's plans are or his level of involvement in them. When he thinks about a life without Kurt Hummel in it, all of Blaine's scars start to ache and stomach churn unpleasantly.

It's a horrifying how Kurt can make him feel vulnerable without really doing a thing, but Blaine figures it will pay off to keep this weakness as close to him as possible. Still, he tries to sound flippant when he asks, "Are we actually a _we_ in the future?"

Kurt looks offended at that, lips curling into the smallest of sneers. "What? Do you have any better plans than this?"

He flicks the cigarette out the window, crossing the room until only a few inches separates them. Kurt slides a hand is up the back of his shirt, a warm presence that Blaine isn't ready to give up on. A breeze starts up and Kurt's musky cologne drifts over Blaine, a scent he still isn't able to place almost a year later.

He inhales slowly, chewing on his bottom lip and trying not to look Kurt in the eye. In the morning, they seem so blue that it goes beyond being distracting and turns into the kind of thing that Blaine could spend a lifetime thinking about and not have a second of it feel like wasted time.

"I'm stuck in Lima until next year," he says, trying to keep the lump in his throat from slipping into his voice, "You're the one who's in the position to be making better plans."

"Stop acting like a goddamned martyr," Kurt says, snorting in Blaine's face and running a hand along his ribcage, "It doesn't suit you, sweetheart. Besides, none of my better plans involve leaving you here by yourself."

Despite his own self-preservation instincts, Blaine imagines a future with Kurt, the scenes playing out like a movie trailer. Leaving Lima and going out into the world, hands intertwined but also ready to beat back anything that's going to stop them. They'll collect and trade stories like baseball cards with other clearly defined outsiders. And, call him a sentimental fuck, but Blaine likes to picture he and Kurt are happy together.

"How are we gonna do it?" he asks, watching as a grin spread slow and wide across Kurt's face.

He runs his hand down Blaine's back, fingers dancing lightly on each vertebrae and making Blaine shiver. His voice is a purr, low and smooth and able to make Blaine agree to anything. "Don't you remember? Telling ruins the fun later on."

 

Before Blaine can act on it, Finn's fist collides with his jaw and, even as his mouth starts to fill with blood, he finds some comfort in the fact that Finn's form was shitty. If the way he was yelling and holding his hand was anything to go by, he's probably broken a few knuckles. Blaine only lands one solid punch to his side before he's dragged away, swearing and kicking.

It's Mike who has him around the middle, dragging Blaine until they're outside where Kurt is smoking with Quinn. He drops the cigarette once he sees Blaine, rushing over and asking, "What happened?"

"Your brother," Blaine snarls, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pavement.

Kurt's hand freezes from where it was rubbing circles between Blaine's shoulder blades. There's one of those moments that seem to stretch for a lifetime, then Kurt gently squeezes his shoulder and drops a kiss to Blaine's brow, then he's gone. Quinn keeps smoking without looking at him, like the act of spitting up blood and checking for missing teeth is something that needs privacy. They both ignore the sounds coming from the house: Kurt yelling and Finn swearing and Rachel's shrill voice joining the fray somehow.

When he finally comes back out, Kurt's shirt is torn and he has a bottle of water, which he passes to Blaine. If he's pissed, Kurt does a good job of hiding it, going right back to rubbing circles on Blaine's back as he drinks and spits out water until it comes back clear. By the time that happens, the pain and rage has mostly ebbed away, but Blaine's voice is still low and dangerous when he says, "Tell me you broke his face."

"Didn't need to. He was too busy crying over the fact that your face broke his hand."

Quinn lets out a little snort and Blaine wants to glare at her, but can't quite manage it. In the past twelve hours, he's watched Kurt graduate, quit the New Directions, attended another boring ass New Directions party, and then got punched at said party. This day sucks so hard that it shouldn't even be legal and he really wants nothing more than an ice pack on his face and a nap. Dropping his head onto Kurt shoulder, he says all this and becomes acutely aware that getting punched in the face has caused him to develop a lisp.

Kurt presses another soft kiss to his forehead and, suddenly, there's the sound of the sliding glass door signals Quinn's departure. He can feel Kurt smile against his skin, saying, "Two more days and it will all seem worth it."

And Blaine has no idea what he's talking about, because Kurt still insists on keeping it all one big secret, but the excitement is so clear in his voice and eyes that all Blaine can say is, "I love you."

It's light, but anything but insincere, his eyes seeking Kurt's just in time to see them widen magnificently. The L word is another thing they've carefully danced around, save for Kurt's slip up the night of the fight. It's impossible to ignore now, Blaine's eyes determined and chin tilted in a way that screams defiance.

Kurt intertwines their fingers slowly, presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Mouth soft and voice warm, he whispers into Blaine's skin, "I love you, too."

Technically, he's known this for months already, but once it's said out loud, Blaine feels invincible. He could steal a car or rob a bank or finally beat the shit out of those guys from freshman year and nothing bad could happen to him, because he's seventeen and in love and the boy he loves loves him right back.

 

Blaine wakes up to the sound of someone tapping on his window. When he checks the clock, it's barely six in the morning, but Kurt Hummel's grin is huge as he waves from the tree outside of Blaine's room. It's enough to jolt Blaine awake, heart automatically speeding up a little when he opens the window.

Kurt leans in to slide his hand onto the nape of Blaine's neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. When it's over, his eyes are sparkling and Blaine feels breathless like he does after every kiss, wondering if he'll ever get used to it.

"Pack your bags," Kurt says, climbing through the window, "I'd suggest both warm and cold clothes, then only the basic essentials. We need to travel light."

It feels a little like a dream, Blaine throwing things haphazardly into a pair of duffel bags as Kurt stretches out on the bed. In the span of time it takes him to gather his stuff from the bathroom, Kurt has dug out Blaine's leather jacket from one of the bags and has it on, twisting around and trying to examine himself. "How do I look?"

"Amazing," Blaine says, even though he knows Kurt deserves more than three syllables.

Once he's done packing, they sneak out the window and into Kurt's car, where there's a McDonald's breakfast and a mix tape waiting for them. Kurt leans in to kiss him over the gear shift, mouth tasting like maple syrup as laughter bubbles up before he can help it. Blaine places a hand on Kurt's thigh, squeezing lightly and winking. Still laughing, Kurt slides on a pair of sunglasses and guns the engine.  



End file.
